


Tap to View

by theladyscribe



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, Oblivious Pining, Sexting, Sidney Crosby’s Terrible Mustache, Unsolicited Dick Pics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-30 20:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17230496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: He watched as the message was marked Delivered and then Read, and the trio of grey dots that meant Sid was typing kept appearing and disappearing, most likely composing an essay on what an idiot Claude was for sending that as a text instead of a snap. The screen dimmed, but Sid's text came through before it locked.I always liked your dick





	Tap to View

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neveranygoodupthere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveranygoodupthere/gifts).



Claude had just settled into his hotel room in Toronto when his phone dinged with an alert for a private snap from Sid. It was probably another video of him basically screaming into the void about the Pens' shitty start to the season. There'd been a lot of those since the two of them started this texting thing, but they'd increased in quantity this year. It was November, and the Pens had lost eight of their last ten, which meant Claude was being subjected to both Sid's terrible mustache and his bitching on a regular basis. Even if the Pens had been winning, he'd still be subjected to Sid's mustache, but at least that was temporary. He hoped.

The texting thing wasn't temporary. It had started last year, just after Claude led Team Canada to a second-place finish in Worlds. Sid had texted him out of the blue with his condolences on the shootout loss. It was unexpected, but not completely unwelcome. Claude had thanked him and wished him luck against the Senators. The Pens routed the Senators that night, blitzing them with a 7-0 shutout. After that, Sid kept texting him through the end of the playoffs, up until the final game, when all communication ceased.

It resumed a week later and had continued ever since, with the exception of the two weeks they played each other in the playoffs last spring. Once the handshakes were over and the Flyers skated off the ice to lick their wounds, Sid picked up where he left off, the series apparently forgotten. Claude didn't know if that would have been the case had the Flyers won the series. Sid was many things, but magnanimous after a loss wasn't one of them. Case in point: the litany of vitriol he witnessed following the Pens' loss to the Capitals two weeks later.

Claude unlocked his phone and opened Snapchat, but before he could tap on the message, a text from Sid pinged. _Don't open that_.

Claude immediately tapped on the Snapchat message. It was a bathroom selfie, taken in his house, judging by the beige walls and the impressive collection of hair products on the counter. Sid's face wasn't in the shot, but the rest of him was. He wore boxer-briefs which left absolutely nothing to the imagination, the outline of his dick stark against the cotton. He was shirtless, his summertime tan still faintly visible in the contrast where his briefs had slipped down.

The image disappeared from view, but Claude wasn't likely to forget it any time soon. His phone buzzed in his hand with another text message. Sid again.

_I told you not to open it._

_Too late_ , Claude answered. And then, because he couldn't resist needling Sid when presented with such a perfect opportunity to do so: _Smart to keep it short, but ur selfie game needs work if u want to hook someone._

Sid's response was swift. _I suppose you think you could do better._

A better person would have laughed the comment off and shut down the conversation, but Sid had thrown the gauntlet. No way was Claude going to leave it at that, not with that kind of opening. He took off his shirt and undid his pants, shoving his hand into his underwear. He tried to think of something sexy, but the only image that came to mind was the face Sid made when he was really pissed, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared. It was the look he got just before he picked a fight with someone twice his size or scored a filthy goal just to prove a point. It was probably the look on his face right now, waiting in his beige bathroom for Claude to text him back. It was definitely not something Claude would admit to having in his spank bank, but what Sid didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Claude's cock was fully hard and leaking precum now, so he pulled his hand out of his underwear and grabbed his phone again. It took him a few tries to get the angle right, but finally he got the shot he wanted: abs flexed, cock hard in his underwear, a wet spot near the band giving away the head. The vee of his unzipped fly framed everything nicely.

Claude tapped out _I know I could_ , selected the photo, and hit send, realizing a moment too late that he'd done it over text instead of Snapchat.

He watched as the message was marked Delivered and then Read, and the trio of grey dots that meant Sid was typing kept appearing and disappearing, most likely composing an essay on what an idiot Claude was for sending that as a text instead of a snap. The screen dimmed, but Sid's text came through before it locked.

_I always liked your dick_

Claude blinked at the message. That was not what he expected at all. Their chats got personal sometimes - they once compared notes on the best bars to pick up on the west coast road trip and another time, Claude had confessed to fucking one of their teammates in Prague (though he would take their name to the grave) - but Sid never said anything that was that straightforwardly flirtatious to him. They were both equal opportunity sluts, but they'd never had sex with each other. It was a line Claude didn't know they were allowed to cross. He always assumed that it was an unspoken rule not to fuck your rival, even if they showed up in more than one jerk-off fantasy.

The grey dots appeared again, though this time Claude didn't have to wait long for the message. _Was that an old photo or -_

_Was yours?_

Sid sent him a two-second video in answer. He'd moved out of the bathroom and into a bedroom. His hand was in his shorts, clearly stroking himself. "No," he breathed into the microphone. The clip ended. Claude hit play again. The lighting in Sid's bedroom was pretty terrible, but he could make out the way Sid thumbed the head of his cock on the downstroke just before the video cut off.

He was about to hit play a third time when Sid messaged him again. _Your turn._

Claude set his phone down and took a deep breath. He really should end it here, tell Sid to turn off his phone and go to bed because he was obviously drunk and likely to do something even more stupid than send Claude two-second sex tapes. Or he could give in to the urge to fuck with Sid just a little bit.

His phone dinged. He checked it out of reflex and laughed. _Well??_ Sid had asked.

Claude tapped Sid's name and hit the facetime button. Unlike some people, he was smart enough not to record himself jerking off.

Sid answered on the second ring, the image almost entirely nostril and the dead caterpillar on his lip. He was breathing heavily. "What."

"I thought this would be better than pictures," Claude said, switching the camera so he could capture himself shoving his jeans and underwear down.

Sid didn't do the same, but that was all right. This way, Claude could watch his face as he gave the video stream his full attention. Claude kicked his pants down as best as possible, giving up once they got to his ankles. He bent his knees and fondled his balls, exaggerating his movements for Sid's benefit. Sid sucked his upper lip into his mouth, licking at his stupid mustache. His eyes were glued to the screen. He was already flushed when he answered the video call, but his cheeks pinked even more as Claude stroked himself. He released his lip on an exhale, the camera shifting.

"Are you touching yourself?" Claude asked.

"Yeah." Sid's breath hitched.

"Tell me."

"I've got my hand on my dick," Sid started. "I'm watching your technique; I'm following along. Is that how you like it? Squeezing your balls before you jack yourself? Or do you go for your ass? You should show me. I wanna see what you like."

"Fuck, Sid, hang on." Claude set down his phone and climbed off the bed to find his toiletries.

"Hey! Where'd you go?"

"Just fucking wait," Claude said, digging through his bag. He found his travel bottle of lube and hurried to get back on the bed. He picked the phone up again, holding the lube up for the camera. "You said you wanted to see, so."

Sid's nostrils flared. "Fuck. Yeah, I wanna see."

It took some effort to do it one-handed and keep everything in view of the camera, but Claude spread lube over his cock and balls, getting himself messy the way he liked. Sid watched intently, licking his lips like he wanted to stick his tongue out and taste. Claude stroked himself a few times before slipping his hand down to rub a finger against his perineum.

"Are you gonna fuck yourself on your fingers?" Sid asked. "Open yourself up?"

Claude followed the suggestion, fingering himself open. "Keep talking."

"I could do that for you," Sid said, his voice thick. "I'd suck your dick and finger you at the same time. I'm great at it. I'd have you begging in five minutes."

Claude choked out a laugh and immediately regretted doing it while he still had his fingers in his ass. He pulled them out and went back to jerking off. "You're so full of shit."

"Next time we play each other, I'll prove it." Coming from Sid, it sounded more like a threat than a promise. The imperious look he gave Claude along with the statement was marred somewhat by the sheen of sweat that dampened his curls.

"You have to shave off that mustache before I'm letting you anywhere near my dick." Before Sid could start arguing with him about it, Claude asked, "Are you getting close?"

Sid's focus switched immediately to the task at hand. "Yeah. Are you?"

"Yeah. Switch your camera. I want to see your cock."

Sid complied without argument for once. His cock was thick and flushed, just like the rest of him. He was stroking it dry, dragging blunt nails up the underside. His thighs twitched while he worked himself over, and Claude could see his abs flexing. "You like it?" Sid asked, sounding shy for the first time tonight.

Claude wasn't usually much of a talker in bed - he preferred to let his actions speak for him - but he could do this. "Yes," he breathed. It came out more raw than he intended, so he covered it up with bluster. "I wanna see you come, Sid."

Sid dragged his hand up his cock one more time, squeezing the head at the end, and his entire pelvis flexed. He came with a punched-out groan, spurts of semen catching in his pubes and spilling over his hand. It was fucking hot, and Claude stroked himself with renewed vigor, reaching down to rub his perineum again.

"C'mon, it's your turn now," Sid said. "God, I wish I could fuck you right now. I bet you're so slick from all that lube. I could just slide right in no problem for sure."

"Ah jeez," Claude muttered, coming hard at the thought of Sid's thick cock in him. He collapsed back, breathing heavily, and dropped his phone to his chest.

"Claude, you still alive?" Sid was laughing, probably mocking him a little.

"Barely," he admitted. He wanted to bask in the afterglow, maybe let Sid talk to him a while longer. They'd skipped the pleasantries entirely; Claude didn't even know if the Penguins won their game, and that was usually the first thing Sid told him.

"Just making sure," Sid said. Claude lifted his phone to see that he'd switched the camera back to his face. He was smiling crookedly, looking smugly satisfied. "I'm going to clean up. This was fun. We should do it again sometime."

"Sure," Claude said, too bewildered to say anything else.

"Okay, well, have a good night." Sid hung up before Claude could respond in kind.

Claude shut his eyes and just breathed for a moment. He needed to clean himself up. He probably needed to process whateverthefuck just happened, but if Sid was unbothered by it, he wasn't going to let himself be bothered by it either. They'd see each other next week; they could talk about it then.

And maybe he'd take Sid up on his offer of a blowjob, too.


End file.
